Welcome to community-at-a-distance! This is to tell you that we miss you, here at the church, and that we hold hope of our joyous return to being a congregation. Soon enough the music and laughter will echo on these walls and the coffee will brew and the grill be hot and and and…we'll return.
I'm hoping you're receiving Sunday sermons, either in text or in video.
And as always, I'd love to talk to you!
pastorpaulvanantwerp@gmail.com 218-349-0143
A few things to share:
Cathy says: "Thank you for all the care and prayer and well wishes" on the loss of her sister-in-law. "They mean a lot."
Laura says: "My granddaughter is out of the hospital. God is good! Thank you for praying!"
…and a great many of you share this message: "I'm fine." (See commentary for more details.)
For those that have been able to share offering: thank you. It truly makes a difference . We rely heavily on the plate giving of Sunday offering here, as expenses still continue. What you give, again, makes a difference.
And as always, we'd love to share your thoughts and well-wishes with one another! Send a note or give a call! Your people want to know how you are doing!
From Pastor Paul… Toward Sunday:
"Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." ~ John 20:29
Picture it: earlier this week, up the shore between Gooseberry and the Split Rock, there's a small harbor, and tucked on a hill by that harbor, a small grassy outcrop, secluded by the trees, overlooking the lake. There's a small fire pit there, and an easy place to sit. On the day I write about, the sky is clear, the wind is out of the west, but buffered by the hills and the woods. There are no waves, but when the wind settles after passing overhead, it lands on the lake and dances across the surface in the speckled and dappled way wind does, sending sparks of light across the lake toward the Wisconsin shore. It is…yes gorgeous.
Lest I "wander lonely as a cloud" like Wordsworth, I write this as an intro to the subject of living into Resurrection. It is our time. We have learned that death does not defeat life – that despair does not defeat hope. Jesus has taught us this, and I think it worthy to take it to heart and soul.
See, this week, I reinvigorated my old practice of journaling with a spirit of inventory – all for the sake of living into Resurrection. I'm pushing myself toward a review of the day (the day-to-day) with four points by which I can measure my overall well-being: "PMSA" I call it: Physical, Mental, Spiritual, Aesthetic. The first three are pretty straight-forward: Am I caring for my body, my mind, my spirit? But the last is a gift from God: did I bear witness today to anything that triggered awe or wonder or beauty?
I mean, we know this: that there's something out there, every day, that has the potential to touch and stir us…something worth lingering on…something praiseworthy. Do we see it? Do we let ourselves experience it? Friends, I'm thinking that the in-road to practicing Resurrection comes from our ability to embrace and engage God's presence in our everyday experience. Physical, Mental, Spiritual, Aesthetic .
…And Friends, I want to share it with you. Why? Well, at the risk of sounding rather flighty or vague, soft or new-age or self-help, I want to share it because I've always appreciated it when others share it – when others share their way of seeing and experiencing the presence of the Holy in their day to day, and it strikes me how little we take the time to share those moments – how often we keep those moments private…lest we sound, perhaps, as loopy as our pastor might be!
Context: Round about Holy Week, I had this vision that as a church we might share a little with one another about how we're sustaining our faith in these isolating times. I had this idea that I would inquire with each of you, and that each of us would share a few words about practicing our faith in these times, alongside a welcome and word of kindness.
Can you picture the response? "Tell people that I'm fine." I'm fine. Over and over, person by person, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine…" …Which is great, don't get me wrong. "I'm fine" means that you're not struggling, but "I'm fine" is also the "can't complain could be worse" diminutive neutrality that keeps the spirit of God well-checked in the coatroom instead of out on the dance floor. I picture a congregation, with all of the Scandinavian or Nor'Minnesota stoicism, as a gaggle of birds (think penguins or geese or seagulls) – all with the same tone: "Fine. Fine. I'm fine."
I know I'm getting quirky here (quirkier than usual, even), but I think there's more to this day-to-day and prayer-by-prayer than our neutrality belies. I think we all have moments of bright joy and dim despair. And I think we owe it to one another to share them.
I mean, if we can't share all of that very real life with each other – if we can't share our spirit with those for whom "Take It to the Lord in Prayer" every Sunday is common vernacular…well then, who else?
So here's my nudge for this week…it's the same nudge God has given me: take some time to consider how you are doing…really – (not just the broad generality, but the vivid day to day). Delight in the joys. Accept the challenges. And for the sake of the church and your friends and your faith, share them (I mean it! Send me a note or give me a call: 218-349-0143).
And I'll share mine again: those dappled waters on the lake just plain stirred my soul. I wish you were there. And even if I can't take you there right now, I want to tell you all about it. Because it matters. Because it stirred my heart and I want to share it. Because we live in Resurrection.
Keep in touch,
Pastor Paul